


Ashes In My Wake

by queeniegalore



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, except the soul bond bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: Soul bonds don't exist, except in the realms of bad romantic literature. Until, somehow, some way, they do.





	Ashes In My Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Title, as usual, from Hozier
> 
> Beta work done by the incomparable noctiphany, without whom I would be nothing.
> 
> Apparently I started writing this fic in May 2017, and I could not have finished it without my Twitter cheerleader crew. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It started like a flame in the Iron Bull’s chest.

“Could be heartburn,” Krem suggested, helpfully. “Go see Stitches, he makes me a thing, works like a charm.”

“Mm, no it's not…” Bull waved a hand. He was slumped at his place in the tavern, and Krem had deigned to lean against his table, gallantly abandoning his post in Bull’s time of need.

(“How am I supposed to pick up girls with you sticking your nose in every five seconds, Chief? Stay at your table and keep to yourself. You’re, you’re _cramping my style_.” Bull loved him so much it almost hurt, sometimes.)

“It doesn't hurt,” Bull finished. “It's just like there's a fire in there. Something...flickering...” He trailed off, the words drifting away just out of reach as the tavern door opened. The flame danced, and there was Dorian’s face, gaze casually flicking around the room . 

“A fire in your chest that doesn't hurt, and there's your ‘Vint and suddenly you're lost for words.” Krem heaved a deep sigh and clapped Bull on the shoulder. “Chief I mean this with all due respect, but you're a fucking idiot sometimes.”

“Twenty percent pay dock for two weeks and latrine duty,” Bull muttered, absently. Dorian’s gaze had caught him, and he gave it away with a little dimpled smile that was trying and failing to be a smirk. “Insubordination.”

“Righto Chief, and I guess you’ll make that stick when you stop delegating payroll and chore rosters to me.” Another clap, and then Krem was retreating back to his corner. “Try not to set your fucking curtains on fire again.”

Bull blinked, opened his mouth to protest because it wasn't _him_ that had set the damned curtains on fire, not directly, but then Dorian was sauntering over, strutting like he owned the damn place, and the fire moved lower as Bull took in the tight leather, the thigh muscles, the swagger in his hips. The damn unnecessary _buckles_. 

Lust, he thought, almost in relief. Lust. He could deal with lust.

Lust was safe.

“Do you think,” Dorian drawled, cocking a hip against Bull’s table and smiling down at him with a soft quirk of his lips. “That the tavern wall would actually fall down without you here to prop it up, the Iron Bull?”

The flames flared, and for a moment Bull was irrationally sure that Dorian would be able to see them lit up right through his skin, shining bright through his eye and mouth. Insanity, is what this felt like, but still, somehow, very sweet.

He laughed, shook his head, more in disbelief at himself than at Dorian’s ever so calculated and casual flirtations.

“I don't like to risk it,” he said, leaning back further and spreading his legs just that little bit more, just to see the flickering of interest on Dorian’s face as he dropped his eyes for the barest of seconds. “Someone has to think of the booze.”

“Barbarian,” Dorian said fondly. “All the good stuff is kept in the cellars in the castle under Lady Montilyet’s very watchful eye.”

“Mm, you say that and yet,” Bull grinned. “And yet, I’ve seen you drinking what the Fereldens have the balls to call ale. Only way _I_ can get you to look like that is when I've got my cock shoved so far-”

“Bull!”

Dorian swatted at him, too soft to be anything but playful. His tone was outraged but humour sparkled in his eyes and for just a moment they grinned at each other, happy and warm with the ridiculousness of it all.

I could take you to bed right now, Bull thought. Or take you to...wall. Take you up against this wall, over this table, spread out on the bar. Wherever, whenever, however. Or…

There was answering heat in Dorian’s eyes, but it was banked, waiting, and Bull could wait too. 

“Well, maybe we’ll stick with the ale, to start with,” Bull allowed, and kicked out the chair next to him. “Drink with me?”

“Oh, if there’s nothing better on offer.” Dorian took the seat like it was a throne, stretching one long leg out under the table, tip of his boot barely brushing Bull’s ankle as if by accident.

Bull signalled the closest barmaid, held up the two good fingers on his right hand and winked. Beside him, Dorian rolled his eyes at the display, but he seemed...fond, rather than irritated.

_-another one, I suppose, but that’s okay because_ I’m _here-_

Bull blinked, shook his head like he was dislodging water in his ear, and focused on what Dorian was saying.

“Let me guess, she rode the Bull?” 

Bull snorted, brief moment of weirdness forgotten, or at least filed away. “Nah. You know I haven’t tupped every serving girl in this place, right?” Dorian looked unconvinced, and Bull had to grin. “Just about every serving _boy_ though.”

“Oh, honestly.”

And that, of all things, brought a flush to Dorian’s face, high up on his cheekbones, just a deep rose against that silky bronze skin. He lowered his lashes, thumbed at his mole - _beauty_ _spot_ \- and snuck a glance back up. If Bull didn’t know better, he’d think it was almost _coy_.

“And how did _you_ find young Tristan?” he asked, and for half a moment, Bull didn’t know what he meant and then-

“You didn’t?”

“Most certainly did,” Dorian sniffed. “You’re not the only one allowed to - to sample the local flavour, you know.”

Bull sat back and just looked at the ‘Vint for a moment. Full of surprises, that one, and yeah, they’d fucked - a few times now, a semi regular thing when they were both around, both in the mood - but Bull hadn’t expected this. 

_-too young too sweet too pretty not exactly what I-_

Found he kinda liked it.

“You sly dog,” he said, admiring, and raised his drink. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Dorian shrugged and Bull was delighted to see that colour in his cheeks rising, deepening. Bastard even blushed pretty.

_-of course he’s not mad-_

“Yes, well, the more time I spend with you, the more you’re rubbing off on me, it seems.” He sipped his own drink. He didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t like it anymore. 

Bull leered. 

“Not yet I’m not,” he said and grinned as Dorian rolled his eyes. “What? Looks like I gotta get in while the getting’s good. Can’t lose you to more of this sweet Southern rough, you might get a taste for it, like the ale.”

Dorian met his eye and lifted his tankard, taking a deep, long pull and licking his lips. The fire in Bull’s chest, until now quiet and glowing contentedly, suddenly flared and Bull could have sworn he saw the flames reflected in the grey of Dorian’s eyes. 

“Would you like to know exactly what I’ve got a taste for, Bull?” Dorian delicately put the tankard down on the table, empty, and swiped a thumb over his wet bottom lip. “Would you like me to show you?”

_-this this is what I want crave need oh-_

Bull was burning up. He didn’t care. “Oh, shit yeah,” he breathed, and kicked his chair away from the table as he stood up. “Fuck, Dorian.”

Dorian smirked, standing and heading towards the stairs, that filthy swagger in his hips dragging Bull along behind him like he was on a hook.

_-well I certa-_

“- I certainly hope so.”

~

“You know the difficult thing about Crestwood,” Max mused as they paused at the edge of a meadow, shading their eyes and looking out at the path ahead, “is that I fucking hate it and want to go home.”

_-forty three bottles of beer on the-_

Dorian stretched, scrunching his face up in the glare of the lowering sun. “Well, it’s certainly better now that we’ve cleared out all the blasted corpses,” he said. “It’s rather pretty when you’re not inhaling rotted flesh with every breath.”

“Be prettier if it was surrounded by four walls and had someone serving me rum,” Varric muttered. “Sparkler, I never would have taken _you_ for a naturalist.”

_-two bottles of beer! Take one-_

“Beauty is drawn to beauty,” Dorian drawled. “You wouldn’t understand, of course.”

“Don’t start, I have a sword and apparently I’m allowed to use it.” Max pulled out a water flask and sipped at it moodily. “Maker, why are we even here? I can’t even _remember_ anymore.”

“There’s a dragon over there,” Bull put in suddenly, and the whole party squawked and ducked and grabbed for their weapons at the same time. 

“No!” Max pointed sharply at Bull, and then the rest of them. “No!”

_-forty one bottles of dragondragondragon-_

“...bottles of beer _,”_ Dorian said softly as they crouch-ran in a wide arc around the fucking Dragon lazily sunning herself on a broken tower. “Take one down, pass it around, forty one bottles of beer on the wall! What.”

Max and Bull were both giving him a Look. Max’s was of the ‘I will kill you and everyone you love,’ variety, while Bull just looked confused. 

“Bull’s been singing it all day,” Dorian muttered with dignity. “It’s stuck in my damn head.”

“Have I?” Bull asked, tilting his horns, at the same time Max said, “no he hasn’t.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and flung an arm out to the winged bringer of death currently deciding which of them would serve as the best afternoon snack. “Do we not have more important things to consider? At present?”

“Sparkler’s got a point,” Varric put in, Maker bless the dwarf. “Back to camp, she’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Oh don’t look so disappointed Bull,” Max said, shooting Dorian a last glare and turning towards the low bluffs that would lead them back to the nearest campsite. “You can jerk it to a giant lizard another day.”

Bull ignored him in favour of staring at Dorian, who stared back and tried to quell the uneasy feeling trying to ignite in his chest. “Is there a problem, the Iron Bull?” he asked tightly.

“I was up to forty,” Bull said quietly. “Not forty one.”

Dorian blinked, and the unease bloomed, along with the fire that was a near constant now. The air was almost burning between them, just on the wrong side of visible. Bull’s eye gleamed and Dorian - Dorian wanted -

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He jerked his head towards Max and Varric, who were already getting well ahead of them. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, alright ‘Vint. After you.”

Later that night, behind a carefully constructed barrier, ensconced in their tent, on a bed of furs and rough woollen blankets, Dorian rode the Bull and tried to keep it as simple as that.

“Fuck, Dorian,” Bull groaned, low and sweet as his rough hands gripped Dorian’s hips, guiding his movements. “What you do to me…”

“Tell me what I do,” Dorian gasped, sweat dripping down his back, the air hot and close around them. “Tell me.”

_-this is how I fucking die-_

“It’s like I’m burning up,” Bull said, more honest than Dorian had been expecting. He faltered in his rhythm, twisting a little in Bull’s bruising grip. “Like I’m going to catch fire.”

Dorian closed his eyes, let his head hang back, let his body move to Bull’s rhythm now. “Me too,” he whispered. “Bull yes, oh fuck me, _Bull_.”

“Yeah ‘Vint, _Dorian_ , shit you’re so hot.”

The size of Bull in him alone, the stretch in his muscles as he straddled those impossible thighs, they way Bull pressed his thumbs into the crease of his groin as he held him… Dorian let one hand drift to his own hair, tugging the wet strands anxiously. It was like riding a bonfire. They were going to immolate the entire campsite, and Dorian couldn’t find it in him to stop.

_-sweet sweet so sweet on me oh he feels so good tightwetgood looks so good so fucking lucky-_

“Come for me,” Bull panted, leaning up a little, grinding Dorian down on him hard enough for Dorian to gasp and squirm with it. “Come before we set the whole damn place up in flames.”

“You feel it?” Dorian gasped, slapping his free hand over his chest, over his heart. “You feel this?”

_-yes yes fuck ‘Vint what’s happening oh fuck gonna come come on Dorian come first gonna come gonna-_

Dorian almost screamed with it. It was like he could feel Bull’s orgasm before he could feel his own, dick throbbing and pulsing, untouched yet overflowing with pleasure, and it went on for seconds before he reached his own peak, spilling out over Bull’s stomach and chest without a hand on him and when he did, Bull roared, neck arched as much as his horns would allow, sharp tips digging into the bedding and tearing, and Dorian could feel it, Dorian could _feel_ it…

The barrier fizzled and died with Dorian as he slumped forward, collapsing in a wet, messy heap on Bull’s chest. They were both of them out of breath, heaving great gasps of air, the night hot and humid between them. Dorian dragged his open mouth along Bull’s collarbone, tasted sweat and leather, felt a deep shudder in the mountain of muscle beneath him.

“Bull…”

“Shh.” Huge arms encircling him, holding him close, and in place, as their twin fires danced together and settled. “Later.”

“We have to-“

“ _Later_.”

Dorian sighed and closed his eyes. Just sex, he thought to himself. It’s just sex, it’s just lust.

He wondered when he’d become such a fucking liar.

The next morning he woke alone, Bull already up and dressed and kicking soil over the fire. Dorian could hear him clear across camp, loud and excited, they were going dragon hunting and today was going to be a good day!

Dorian smiled, felt a mirroring excitement rise in his own chest. He sat, and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He was still surrounded in the Bull’s warmth, in his scent, his eagerness for the fight almost palpable around him.

They were going to fight a _dragon_.

It was going to be a good day.

Everything else could wait.

~

_Grey skin gone silver in the moonlight, criss crossed with a roadmap of scars, pitted with the tale of years. Muscle straining and heavy, a thick bulk surrounding him, protecting him, worth protecting in turn. A strong hand gripping the textured shaft of a war axe, long and violent and deadly, his vision was halved but his other senses were heightened, he could hear the laboured breaths of his enemy, he could smell the fear and sweat and piss and blood and oh, the blood, the blood streaked his body, dripped from his hands, ran onto his tongue and he bared his teeth in a grin and tossed his head and the weight above him didn’t throw him off because the horns were a part of him now and so was the rage and so was the lust…_

_-vatasala...asala-saar-_

Dorian awoke, but the dream seemed to coalesce around him for long seconds still, until he didn’t know if he was in his bed or lying on a battlefield, didn’t know if it was his own sweat he could smell or something stronger, thicker - he shook his head. There was no blood. There was no battle. There was no rage.

There was, unfortunately, rather a lot of lust.

“ _Fasta vass_.”

With the will of empires, he ignored his erection. The sky outside his window was dark, the stars icy and cold and terribly Fereldan. He sat up slowly, the blanket pooling in his lap and leaving his chest bare and full of goosebumps in the chill. He wouldn’t sleep again, he knew. The fire in his heart, brought to life by the dream (vision?) would see to that.

Beside him, the Bull slumbered on.

~

Dorian had not expected to like the qunari spy.

To be attracted to him, certainly, but he was attracted to a lot of people he didn’t like, that didn’t have to mean anything. The Iron Bull fit a very specific mold that had interested Dorian since his teens, the chance to be up close to what had basically been a fantasy object for most of his life was certainly...tempting. But he _was_ a spy, and he was, technically, the enemy - of his homeland, if not specifically the Inquisition. Dorian wasn’t supposed to _like_ him.

But Dorian’s life, of late, had been just full of surprises.

He walked the ramparts as the dawn slowly threatened to light the easterly sky, nodding at the guards who knew him by now, or knew not to ask questions of the many lonely, sleepless souls who wandered the castle at night. He wouldn’t be surprised to see the Inquisitor up here; Max was also a terrible sleeper and liked the security of being alone-but-not alone up on the walls, surrounded by soldiers who didn’t want anything from him for a change.

Dorian walked.

The fire in his chest was growing and the closer he got to the Bull, the more fiercely it burned. He did not know what it meant, which irritated him, and was worried it might be love, which _terrified_ him. But surely he’d been in love before and never felt anything so...visceral, physical, consuming. It flared when he looked at Bull, roared when they went to bed together, burned sullen and slightly painful if they were apart for too long. It was inexplicable, and while it was currently benign, it was escalating and Dorian wasn’t sure who, in his current circumstances, he could turn to.

And then there were the dreams. _Visions_. Whatever they were. He had no idea if they were fabricated whole from the Fade or if he was being drawn into Bull’s memories or - or _what_. The qunari said they didn’t dream, everyone knew that, but Dorian would sorely love to know what Bull saw when he closed his eyes at night. 

_Was it reciprocated?_

Not the attraction. Dorian blushed faintly as he thought about how obviously and enthusiastically _that_ was reciprocated by the Bull. Not the - the appreciation, either. Dorian knew Bull liked him, suspected he might like him quite a lot. The Bull wasn’t a settle down and marry type of man - Andraste on the pyre, neither was Dorian - but there was affection at the least. Dorian didn’t think he was fucking any of the serving staff at the moment, anyway, which surely meant something.

No, the mundanity, while plenty to occupy his overactive mind in normal circumstances, was not what was bothering him.

Did Bull feel the fire in his chest, is what he truly wanted to know. Did Bull burn, did he dream of Dorian, did his body cry for him when they were apart? Dorian leaned on a parapet and let his gaze roam the endless, snowy expanse of mountain spread out below him, the dawn painting lines of fire against the pure white. He did not know what to do. It was _infuriating_.

“Vishante kaffas, what a _ridiculous_ situation,” he murmured out loud, mildly startling a soldier who had stopped a few feet away to chafe his hands and have a drink of something no doubt vicious from a small flask. He smiled wryly and the soldier shrugged, held out the flask in offer.

“Dunno about vishy-whatsit, but I reckon I agree,” the man said companionably. “Nip?”

“It’s first thing in the morning,” Dorian said, but took the flask, eyes watering as he got a whiff of the contents. “Good Maker.”

“Been up all night, ‘bout to go to the Rest for a bite then hit the hay.” The soldier shrugged again as Dorian took a swallow, coughing a little, and then another to wash the first one down. It burned almost enough to outshine his fire.

“Well, it’s all relative I suppose,” Dorian said philosophically, and handed the flask back. “Thank you, friend. Do believe I needed it.”

The soldier - young, Dorian was realising, handsome in that terribly blond, Fereldan type of way, like a rough cut of Commander Cullen - let their fingers brush briefly and quirked a smile. “Anything else you need, ser? As I say, I’m just about to finish my shift, reckon I could be convinced to give the Rest a miss for the right incentive.”

Dorian laughed aloud, not unkindly, and gave the soldier an appreciative look. “Smoothly done, my friend. In any other circumstance, I do believe I might have taken you up on that offer.” He let his gaze roam the soldier’s body appreciatively, to take the sting out of the rejection. “I should come up here more often if I’m going to get lovely young Ferelden men throwing themselves at me like this.”

The boy blushed and grinned, ducking his head, and Dorian sighed. In any other circumstance indeed. But the thought of touching someone else when Bull was slumbering, hot and available in his bed, made the fire sizzle almost painfully. And honestly, what could a young Ferelden pup give him that Bull couldn’t? Certainly nothing he wanted.

Nothing he needed.

“Well, I’m here most nights,” his new friend said bravely. “If circumstances change.”

“I’ll keep _that_ in mind,” Dorian said archly, and took a step away that wasn’t as reluctant as it would have been only a few weeks ago. It was interesting; right when he’d stopped being the Evil Scary Magister was right when he’d stopped needing the attention.

“Stay warm, friend.”

“Alistair, ser. Like the King.” A note of pride in his voice at that and oh, he was _painfully_ young.

“Alistair-like-the-King, then.” Dorian winked and turned, and made the slow, inevitable, journey back to Bull’s side.

~

Bull could smell Dorian as soon as he re-entered the room - snow and sleep and hair oil, a little bit of booze, a little bit of sweat - but he’d known he was coming long before that. 

The fire wasn’t abstract anymore.

He’d been lying awake since Dorian left, trying to analyse what was going on in his own head, in his own body. He’d been...dreaming, for want of a better word. Or something similar. He didn’t want to use the word vision just yet, but he wasn’t very good at lying to himself anymore.

Dorian in a room, full of fury and pain and betrayal, hands bruised from pounding on a locked door, mana dangerously low (and how did Bull know what that would feel like, or know the bone deep horror of reaching for a power that was almost depleted?). Velvets and silks and laces, a comfortable bed with the mattress slashed and the plush pillows strewn across the floor. Throat hoarse from yelling. And then footsteps, and then awake.

Bull knew the basics of what had happened with Dorian's father. He’d gone with Max and Varric when they accompanied Dorian to Redcliffe. But this kind of detail, he’d have to have _been_ there to know. The golden trim on a throw cushion. The dull ache in his knuckles, because he didn’t want to waste his mana on healing himself. The knowledge that those steps outside belonged to Halward…

He’d awoken at the same time as Dorian and stayed quiet as he got his breathing under control, cursed softly to himself, turned to Bull for a while before leaving. And he’d stayed still for the hour or so that he’d been gone, feeling the fire crackle, grow slightly faint as if stretched thin, and then build back up and up until the door gently clicked open. 

It was time to _say_ something.

“Been drinking with the guards on the wall, Pavus?”

No, Bull, not _that._

Dorian paused and then let out a soft laugh as he bent to unlace his boots. 

“Yes, I suppose I have. Young Alistair has rather a way about him.” He undressed and slipped in next to Bull, his chilled skin warming quickly against Bull’s side. 

“You and your Ferelden puppies,” Bull said fondly. “Working your way up to the Commander, you can’t fool me.”

“Ahh, all that spy training _is_ worth something. You’ve cottoned onto my evil plan.”

Bull rumbled a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not just a pretty face you know.”

“Of _course_.”

Dorian turned, snugged into him. Rested his forehead against Bull’s chest as Bull pulled him in close. The fire was raging. Bull was going to die, consumed by it, and he didn’t care, he didn’t care.

_-warm, so warm after that void cursed wind up on the wall why is he always so warm, I could stay here for years please don’t let me go please Maker what is this what is this fire I can’t-_

Bull closed his eyes. Dorian’s thoughts, Dorian’s feelings, contentment warring with unease, were crackling up through the flames. Bull felt burned out, hollow and open and vulnerable, and he wanted to wrap himself in this man like he was armour.

_Vatasala_. 

“Bull.”

He felt blindly over Dorian’s face, pressed his finger over Dorian’s lips. “No.”

Dorian bit him, softly, and tapped his chest. “ _Bull_. This..?”

“Hush,” Bull insisted, and squeezed Dorian in tighter. “Not now.”

_-frustration, frustration! And relief, oh, damn you B-_

“-amn you, Bull.”

“Yeah,” Bull agreed. He pressed his fingers in, parting Dorian’s lips, so soft and wet and yielding, and turned, bearing him down into the mattress and leaning over. The lust he felt wasn’t entirely his. “Oh yeah, probably.”

“We have to talk about this.” But Dorian reached up and grabbed at the base of one horn, twisting his head sharply to dislodge Bull’s fingers and claim his mouth instead.

_-soon Dorian soon if you can hear this fuck can you oh fuck your mouth you feel so good this is too good let me fuck you let me take you soon soon mage we can-_

_-yes-_

The kiss was wet and warm, messy with desperation. Dorian took from him, as if he’d been aching for it, and Bull just let it happen. Let Dorian strip them with hasty, cold fingers, let him straddle one thigh and rut against it like an animal, let him kiss him and _kiss_ him, until there were no more words, no more thoughts, just the eager, frantic rhythm of their fucking. And when Dorian came, dripping over Bull’s skin, smearing hot between them, Bull felt it down to his toes.

- _not enough not enough I need to taste-_

And then the inferno of Dorian’s mouth was wrapping around Bull’s cock and Bull was _gone_ , gripping Dorian’s hair and groaning into the cold night as he burned into cinders and was set adrift on the wind.

_~_

_“_ Iron Bull, darling. Come and have some tea.”

“Uh,” Bull looked out at the training ground, where Krem was mercilessly running the Chargers through combat drills. “I’m a little busy, Ma’am…”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Cremisius is much better at this than you, he has things well in hand.” She inclined her head towards the keep. “Come along, dear.”

Bull looked helplessly at Krem, who rolled his eyes. “Off you go, pet,” he mouthed, and Bull drew a quick line across his own throat in retaliation 

“Really, dear, that’s enough,” Vivienne said over her shoulder, and Bull flushed, and sighed, and followed, Krem’s laughter trailing along behind him.

They had tea.

Vivienne sent off for various blends from all over Thedas, had a new one for every occasion. Today Bull detected a hint of a certain smoky spice he was familiar with from Par Vollen, and smiled. Madame de Fer was, as usual, all class.

“Lovely weather we’ve been having,” he said dryly, once the tea had steeped and he’d taken the first, appreciative sip and complimented her on it. “Have you seen what the new Comtesse visiting from Orlais has been wearing around the place. Ridiculous. Oh and the scandal of that young Free Marcher widower, my goodness me, you wouldn’t-“

“Yes all right , that’s enough dear,” Vivienne cut in smoothly. “I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Why, to enjoy your lovely tea and gossip, I thought.” Bull set his cup down with a delicate little clink, and turned the handle just so. His heartbeat was, very carefully, not elevated.

“Don’t try to prevaricate, Iron Bull, you’re not as good at it as you like to think you are.” She fixed him with her steely gaze and set her own cup down silently. “I believe it’s time to tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into with that ridiculous boy from Tevinter.”

Ahhh. Bull’s hand went to his chest, touching lightly before he caught himself and used it to scratch at his shoulder under his pauldron instead. Her sharp gaze, obviously, did not miss this.

“The ‘Vint? The ‘Vint is great, Ma’am. Drives me crazy, but looks pretty doing it, so… uh…”

“Bull.” Her voice was...if not gentle, because not much about Vivienne was, at least softer than he was accustomed to. “Tell me. I daresay it will be a relief to get it off your chest.”

Except talking about it meant thinking about it. And thinking about it was something he and Dorian had been adept at avoiding. Besides, it was magic crap. Bull, a man who was painfully aware of his own limitations, knew that this bullshit was beyond his comprehension, and beyond what he was comfortable dealing with.

Shit. Maybe unloading on Viv _wouldn’t_ be such a bad idea.

He took another sip of tea. Hint of cardamom in there, just a hint. Like something his Tama might have made. The comparison was both embarrassingly unsubtle and inordinately comforting. 

“There’s a fire,” he started slowly, and Vivienne cocked her head, inviting him to continue. In his own time, in his own time. “There’s a fire in my chest.”

“A metaphorical fire, one would assume,” she said, but she was sitting up a little straighter, looking with interest at the place on his chest he’d brushed his fingers over.

“Doesn’t feel very metaphorical sometimes,” Bull admitted. “It gets worse the further apart we are. It hurts. When we’re close…” he shrugged. “It feels like being wrapped in a blanket next to a raging hearth on a cold night.” He tapped his teaspoon against his saucer a few times in a rapid tattoo, before remembering where he was, and setting it aside. “Also, we can kinda read each other’s thoughts.”

“Good Maker.”

It was a rare day, Bull thought, as he watched Vivienne fold both her hands in her lap, sit up ever so slightly straighter, and press her lips together after her terribly uncouth outburst, that he managed to truly shock Madame de Fer.

He didn’t much care for it, it turned out.

They sat for a moment in silence, Bull sipping his tea and Vivienne regarding him. There was more to it, more than could be put into words - the way he sometimes seemed to feel Dorian’s emotions, feel what he felt. The sex. The ache that felt like a hollowed, burned out tree trunk when they were apart for too long. The feeling like a band tightening around the two of them when they were together again. The word, _vatasala_ , that kept niggling at the back of his head, the word that shouldn’t mean anything, because it wasn’t _real_ , it was a _myth_... So much, so much, that he felt he was overflowing with it, but all he could do was sit, big and ungainly at Vivienne’s delicate little table, in the Qunari sized chair she’d quietly procured for him. Sit as she refilled his tea, and placed a bon-bon on his plate, and studied his eye and his chest, her hands positively itching to cast. He could tell. He’d become a curiosity.

“Darling,” she started at last, and he sighed. She gave him just the slightest frown of reproach, and continued. “Iron Bull. Why have you not done anything about this?”

He shrugged, which she hated, and answered honestly. “Been trying to avoid it, Ma’am.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And have you had much success?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Indeed.” She took a bon-bon for herself, small, dainty bites as she eyed him. “And what does Dorian have to say about it?”

Bull winced and looked out the window. “Not much. It’s the same for him, I can tell, we’ve gotten that far but...we haven’t discussed it. At all.”

She was incredulous. “Men,” she muttered disdainfully, under her breath. “It’s a wonder any of you manage to get anything done at all.”

“That’s why we leave the running of things to the women, under the Qun,” Bull said, the inaccurate ‘we’ slipping out before he could stop it. “Prefer to just hit things, myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bull darling. I won’t have you selling yourself short, present idiocy aside.”

Well. Bull supposed that was a kind of compliment.

Vivienne leaned forward ever so slightly. “Bull, dear. Have you heard of the...literary concept of a soulmate?”

The flames licked at his throat. He shook his head, dumbly, and then managed, “That a Southern thing, Ma’am?”

Vivienne pursed her lips. “I would like you to let me cast on you.”

And there it was. At least she was direct. 

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s why you’re here. I’m not going to do anything nefarious, dear. I just want to see if I can...take a look at what’s going on inside you.”

It was his turn to be incredulous. He gave her a Look and she didn’t even have the courtesy to act contrite about it.

“Look inside me?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking.”

“Shouldn’t uh…” apart from anything, it seemed a damned sight more intimate than he’d ever expected he’d get with Vivienne. “Should Dorian be the one doing this?”

At this, she cracked a smile. “Oh, Bull. Our dear young Master Pavus is certainly not without his talents, of course. His necromancy work is quite quaint and his studies into the temporal arts, while foolishly dangerous, aren’t entirely without merit.”

“Well geez, Viv, don’t stain your drawers.”

_-ugh, why is everything today so irritating !!!-_

She chose, praise Koslun’s left nut, to ignore that.

“But I rather think he’s too close to the situation to get an accurate read on what’s happening with the two of you.” She lifted her left hand and made a soft, somehow fluid gesture. The air around her seemed to shimmer and flow like water, and Bull watched it warily. 

“Vivienne…”

“I shan’t cast on you without your permission, Iron Bull,” she said calmly. “And you’re welcome to a Templar presence in the room in case of...the unexpected. But know two things - I merely want to _see_. It won’t feel any more invasive than a healing spell, like the time I mended the tear in your thigh from the outside in.” That had felt pretty damn invasive in Bull’s opinion, but he held his tongue.

“And the second thing?”

She pursued her lips. 

“Unchecked, unknown and untested magic is running rampant in yourself and Dorian, not just in your bodies but in your souls, in your minds. If you don’t let me get a handle on it, one or both of you might die or succumb to possession, or worse. Are you willing to take that risk just because you’re a little squeamish?”

The flames roared and Bull tasted ash and smoke on his tongue. Demons.

Yeah, the idea had skirted the edges of his mind, yeah he’d done his best to ignore it, yeah, he’d been a moron. 

Shitting _demons_.

Trust Vivienne to put it to him blunt.

“I want Cullen there,” he said, and waited for her to incline her head in passive agreement. She did and he sighed, clunking his teacup down impolitely. Vivienne didn’t even scowl. “Shit. Fuck. Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

“Language, dear,” she said mildly and lowered her hands demurely to her lap. “You’re not a savage.”

~

“How many times are you supposed to sleep with the same person before you start developing...feelings?”

Dorian took a delicate sip of his wine and pushed a pawn two spaces ahead while Max was distracted looking up at him with dark, startled eyes.

“Uh,” he said eloquently, and drank his own wine with rather less finesse. “Is this about you and Bull?”

“Well, it certainly isn’t about you and Cassandra,” Dorian sniped. “Considering the two of you haven’t yet moved past hitting each other with large sticks.”

Max snorted and moved Dorian’s pawn back a space. They were playing Drunk Chess, their after-hours version of Cheating Chess, and they were already well into their cups.

“Perhaps,” he said mildly. “If you and Bull laid off hitting each other with your sticks so much you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

This predicament. 

Dorian stared at the board and moodily drained his glass. _This predicament_. What a lovely, innocuous, insignificant way of putting it. 

“This would have been easier if he wasn’t so-” he broke off, frustrated, and looked at Max’s dear, dumb, handsome face. “Do you know how intelligent he is? Under all that...Bull? Do you have any idea?”

“Well obviously, or he wouldn’t be in the inner circle,” Max said, unconcerned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

“Ugh.” Dorian _had_ known. Not - not that he’d cared, or thought about it much, or thought it relevant to the concept of bending over and getting pounded by a giant qunari brute like he’d fantasised about ever since he was old enough to know what a qunari _was_. He’d known, and hadn’t cared, but then, after the pounding, and sometimes in between, when there was no pounding to be had at all, he and Bull had found themselves...more.

And that was _before_ he took into account whatever arcane magical bond was connecting the two of them like the rapidly combusting wick of a candle.

“This is ridiculous, you know,” he said, and Max nodded in too-easy agreement. Dorian scowled. “No, it is. I’m a disgraced noble from Tevinter, he’s a Ben Hassrath spy from Par Vollen. It’s too ridiculous even for one of Varric’s trash novels and _that_ is saying something.”

_Soul bond_.

The word, incredibly outdated, out of fashion, almost mythical, still showed up in some of the more mawkish Olesian romances. They didn’t exist, was the problem. They’d never existed.

Max nodded again and put Dorian in check. “Hah! Yes, your love life is a farce, it’s true, but I’ve seen your face when you come from Bull’s chambers in the morning, so I’m inclined to be for it, personally.” His smile was sweet and cheeky and Dorian unashamedly _adored_ it. “Whatever makes my snobby little mage happy makes me happy.”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” Dorian said fondly, and deftly maneuvered himself out of check for perhaps the third time that game. “You know, this would have been a lot easier if it were Cullen.”

He hadn’t timed those words to the exact second Max was taking a drink of his wine, but if he had it couldn’t have gone any better. Maybe even worth the red wine spots all over his fourth favourite set of house robes.

“ _Cullen_?”

“Mmm, yes. Exceedingly handsome commander of your army? Blushes like a chantry sister, muscles carved by the Maker himself, lips as-”

“Yes, yes, Andraste’s tits, alright.” Max was laughing, mopping wine off the chessboard. “I don’t need to hear it from you as well as every woman in my acquaintance. Maker.”

Dorian sighed dreamily, mostly for show. “He’s just lovely, isn’t he? Strong hands. I like that in a man. We’d have made a lovely match.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, you’re out of luck, my friend. He doesn’t seem to prefer the company of men. Rather definitively doesn’t, as far as _I_ can tell.”

Dorian, who had been thinking of other, stronger, grayer hands, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How in the world do you know that?” The thought of actually being with Cullen, who was, in fact, fast friends with Bull, brought about that vague sense of dissatisfaction that he’d felt when considering young Alistair on the wall, but Dorian was a man of habit. 

“I, uh,” Max laughed ruefully. “When we first met? I came on a little strong and he thought I was flirting with him. Shot me down like I was a castle wall and he was a trebuchet.” He was a little pink in the cheeks, which Dorian found just adorable. “Utterly demolished me. Was nice about it though!”

Dorian shook his head. Maxwell Trevellyan was his best friend and possibly the straightest man he’d ever met in his life, and from someone raised in the Tevinter Imperium, that was a statement.

“Fasta vass. Well. There goes that idea.” It wasn’t really an idea, of course. Bull took up rather too much room to consider much of anything else. Which was the problem in the first place.

“Sorry. I’m thoroughly disgusted, but, you know. Sorry?”

Dorian waved him away. “So long as you know that straight men are everything that is wrong with Thedas. You do know that, don’t you?”

Max looked suitably contrite. “Yes, Dorian.”

“Good. Even Corypheus. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess if someone had ever tossed him some dick.”

Dorian nodded, pleased, as Max choked and upset the chessboard, thus forfeiting the game, thus handing Dorian the win.

He did so like to win.

~

The night of banter with Max had worked wonders to clear his head, but as Dorian took his leave and wandered back through the keep to his rooms, pleasantly drunk and content, the fire, and the thoughts of Bull that came with it, started creeping back through his mind.

_Soul bond, soulmates, bondmates…_

They didn’t exist. 

It was a myth, one that had remained remarkably persistent during the Blessed Age, but which had gone out of fashion in modern times. There were several old romantic tales in Tevinter about a Magister bonding with, oh, someone remarkably unsuited to them - an elvish slave, a Southern lord - and having to overcome all kinds of dramatic difficulties so they could be together. They normally ended in tragedy, the bond broken, everyone dead, that kind of thing. Not Dorian’s cup of tea at all.

Through the...well, the bond, he could feel Bull. Slightly discontent with something, apparently, slightly put out. An undercurrent of fear that Dorian had grown to associate with anything to do with demons… and when, exactly, had that happened? When had he grown so familiar with whatever they had that he’d subconsciously started to understand it, to read Bull’s mood, know his feelings?

When had this snuck up on him, how in the void had he _let_ it?

He paused in the middle of the courtyard and tilted his head up to look at the sky, sprinkled, for a change, with stars instead of blanketed with clouds. The fire in his chest crackled, and the Bull was scared.

Dorian closed his eyes and let his body turn like a compass. Reaching out, tentatively, Dorian flexed the bond, and let it guide him.

Straight, without question or hesitation, to the Iron Bull, straight to where he was most needed.

_Fasta vass_ , what a disaster this was.

~

Bull’s room was lit by a small candle on his bedside table and he looked up with a smile when Dorian let himself in like he’d been expecting him.

“Hey, Dorian.”

“Bull.” 

Dorian shut the door behind him and leaned on it for a moment. The wine was still buzzing pleasantly through his body, fuzzing his mind up a little and making the shadows in the room dance. The door felt wonderfully solid at his back.

“Been drinking with the boss?”

“And beating him at chess,” Dorian smiled faintly. “Maxie has a lot of fine qualities, but alas, strategy at the board is not among them.”

Bull chuckled softly. He was leaning back against his mountain of pillows, a small book clutched in his hand. “Maxie,” he repeated softly, thoughtfully. “Sure.”

“Jealous, Bull?” Dorian teased though he knew, really, that he wasn’t. Bull kept smiling.

“Of the boss? Nah. Not that stupid.”

Dorian blinked. “No. I know.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute, Dorian staying where he was, Bull looking down at the book in his hand, but not reading it. The fire between them crackled and through it Dorian could still feel that aura of slight distress, discontent, that had brought him there.

“Iron Bull,” he said quietly and waited for Bull to look back up at him. “Are you quite alright?”

Bull heaved a sigh and put the book on his nightstand. “Yeah, can’t really hide it anymore, can we?”

Dorian shrugged uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant to open a conversation about - about that. “I only meant-”

“I spoke with Vivienne today.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, wrongfooted. “Well. My condolences.”

Bull snorted, but otherwise ignored him. “We spoke about…I told her some about what’s been going on. With us.” He waved a hand vaguely between the two of them and Dorian nodded. His legs were feeling somewhat unsteady, but they took him over to the bed where he sat down a little heavily at the foot. Bull looked at him with mild gratitude, a flash of surprise running through the bond.

_-thought for sure he’d be angry-_

“And what did she say?”

“Ah, she wants to cast on me to try to figure it out. She’s getting some shit ready for some bullshit magic spell she wants to do.”

Dorian had to be amused at the casual dismission in Bull’s voice at the mention of magic, even as he worried about what that might mean for them.

“Ah well, yes, magic. Beastly stuff, magic,” he said with a half smile, patting at Bull’s calf. “And what, pray, is she expecting to find?”

“I dunno,” Bull said, which Dorian immediately read for a lie. He waited, let Bull lay there staring into the candle for a moment, before patting him again, rather more of a slap this time.

“Bull.”

“You ever heard of a soul bond?”

Dorian froze in the act of whacking him again and very carefully set both of his hands in his own lap. 

“Yes, of course. Romantic nonsense still fuelling the kind of novels that are too lowbrow even for Varric. They don’t exist.”

“Yeah.” Bull nodded. “Yeah, they don’t exist in Par Vollen either. Over there we called them _vatasala-saar_.”

“You called this thing that doesn’t exist...vata-” Dorian tilted his head, tried to figure it out. “Vat - fire soul bad?”

“Your Qunlat’s improving! _Vatasala-saar_. A literal translation would be fire-spirit-danger, or I mean, dangerous fire-spirit. But it’s what we call, uh, you know. A soul bond.”

_Fire spirit._

“You knew this,” Dorian started, cold, his head buzzing, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“No!” Bull held up his hands, looked at Dorian pleadingly. “No, it’s a myth, they don’t exist. I haven’t even thought of the term since I was a kid. I might have heard about it from a tamassran somewhere, I’ve been trying to remember.” He reached out and caught Dorian’s hand in his own, enveloping it in warmth and strength. “It’s not real.”

“Well it certainly fucking feels real,” Dorian snapped, even as he twisted to lace their fingers together. “We _must_ stop ignoring this, Bull.”

Bull looked at him mildly and kindly didn’t point out what a hypocrite Dorian was being in that moment.

“Shit. Yeah, I know. That’s what Viv said.”

“ _Fuck_ de Fer!” Dorian felt a flare of rage and fear and, mostly, irritation, that his Bull had spoken about this with someone else. Completely irrational, but even without mystical mythical magic working upon him, Dorian had always been that.

“This is our problem and I’ll be blighted if I let that meddling bitch get her fingers into it.”

Bull squeezed his hand, drew him in closer to fall against his side. “Hey, Dorian. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dorian huffed a sigh. Bull was very warm, as he always was, shirtless, soft and hard in turns. Huge and solid and _safe_.

“How can you possibly know that?”

A shrug that rocked Dorian like a small earthquake. “I don’t. But hey, I have it on good authority that you’re pretty smart. We’ll figure it out.”

Despite himself, Dorian felt a smile tugging at his lips. “And whose authority would that be, pray?”

“Mine. And,” arms like steel beams surrounded him, pulled him in close, and Dorian let himself be pulled. “I’ve got it on good authority that I’m a pretty great judge of these things.”

Dorian laughed. It was quiet and tired, and a little bit broken, but it was real. “Again, whose authority would that be?”

“Still mine.”

Dorian twisted until he could throw a thigh over one of Bull’s and an arm over his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Well _you_ went and bonded with me,” Bull pointed out. He was smiling too, Dorian could see. The fire between them crackled happily, warm and content. “ _Asalari_.”

Dorian didn’t need to puzzle hard to figure that one out. _Person of my soul._

“ _Asalari_ ,” he repeated in a whisper. “ _Amatus_.”

“ _Dorian_.” Bull caught him by the chin and pulled him, until Dorian was straining up into a kiss, soft and sweet and sending heat flowing from his lips to his _toes_. It was...too much, too soon, too big to deal with. Dorian wanted to run and hide, wanted to take Bull with him, wanted to climb to the top of Skyhold and scream into the night. The world was impossible, full of impossible things, and one of them had happened to Dorian Pavus, _was_ happening to him, here and now.

He could feel Bull’s heart beating, feel it in his veins. He knew the taste of blood and steel, he knew the awe inspiring strength of that body that lay so still and easy for him, he knew the viciousness of that mind, knew what it was to take apart an enemy, clean and methodical, messy and brutal, until they no longer existed. He knew - love, and he knew pain, and curiosity and betrayal and terror and wonder at the infinite world outside the Qun. He knew the Bull.

He knew the Bull.

“Do you feel this?” he whispered into Bull’s lips, between biting, wet kisses. “Tell me you-”

“ _Amatus_ , _asalari_ , _kadan_ ,” Bull groaned, and gripped him tight in huge, shaking hands. “You are magnificent.”

The fire - the _bond_ \- flared and burned, and Dorian, crawling over the Iron Bull to take his fill, let it consume him whole.

~

“The Iron Bull and I have formed a soul bond,” Dorian announced as they walked into Vivienne’s chambers the following morning - or, in Dorian’s case, swaggered. “I understand you’ve taken some sort of interest in this.”

Bull sighed and leaned against the wall with his arms folded, settling in to watch the show. Vivienne didn’t miss a beat.

“Darling. You realise that the understood wisdom is that soul bonds don’t exist, making this rather out of the ordinary. What _are_ they teaching you in Tevinter these days?”

Uninvited, Dorian dropped to lounge on Vivienne’s chaise, helping himself to a truffle. “Ahh, Southern circles are so quaint. More interested in what you can read in a book than what can be seen with your own eyes. I suppose it’s a necessary result of keeping mages tame in cages, but still, must hold back all sorts of intellectual advancement.”

He was eyeing Vivienne closely and through the bond Bull could feel his nerves, jittering like fireworks. He refrained from mentioning that less than twenty four hours ago, Dorian himself hadn’t believed in the concept, liking all his limbs attached as he did. 

“What Dorian means to say,” he cut in diplomatically, “is we value your input and look forward to discussing all possibilities with you regarding the crazy magic mind-fuckery we’ve gotten ourselves into. Ma’am.”

“Quite,” Vivienne said benevolently, pouring everyone tea, while Dorian flared at Bull with mutiny in his eyes. “Of course, I can overlook any number of little tantrums in the name of intellectual curiosity. Honey, Dorian darling?”

She held up a small jar of it and smiled at Dorian as sweet as poison while he glared lightening at her. Bull sighed again and Cullen chose that moment to duck his head in and look around the room in bemusement.

“I had a message, is everything quite all right?”

It was going to be a long fucking afternoon.

~

_They’d first laid eyes on each other when Dorian followed the Herald out through the Chantry at Haven. Bull was talking to Varric around the fire, he’d looked up at the commotion right when Dorian had glanced his way,drawn by the light and heat of the flames. Their gaze had locked, held for a long, slow moment, and then Max had said something or maybe Varric, and they’d looked away as if nothing had happened._

_Pretty._

_Big._

_Powerful._

_Handsome._

_Here?_

_How could he be here?_

_Who is he?_

_Who_ is _he?_

~

Vivienne had notes, of course, and as soon as Dorian caught a glimpse of them his antagonism faded away like mist as his excitement took over. Bull sipped tea with a quiet Cullen and watched them, amused and intrigued, apprehensive and bored, by turns. He wasn’t as ignorant of magical theory as he liked to pretend, but he still didn’t - most of what they were saying flew right over his horns, only the occasional concept or phrase catching on a tip. It painted a vague, muzzy picture, and he itched to fill it in even as he itched to run away from it. _Aura, convergence, mana-spread, fade skip, bond, bond, bond…_

“Bull?” 

He blinked and looked up at Dorian, who was watching him with a little concern. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine, kadan,” Bull said, and pretended not to notice Vivienne’s eyes raise at the appellation. “You know I’ve got no idea what you two are talking about.”

“You don’t want to,” Cullen muttered frowning. His natural distrust of magic was even stronger than Bull’s and he’d been taking in the entire conversation with an air of mingled disbelief and caution.

Vivienne ignored him completely. “You’ve got some idea, darling,” she corrected Bull reproachfully. “Would you like to get started?”

“Does it involve more than me just sitting here scratching my…” He trailed off as she and Dorian both shot him matching glares. “...self?”

Cullen snorted.

_-want us to stop...will walk away from here...amatus we_ will _-_

“Dorian no, it’s fine,” Bull said, responding to the half-formed but fierce thought Dorian was trying to project at him. The feeling more than the words came across - vicious, protective.

The flames of the bond flared like a bottle of spirit thrown on a bonfire. Bull reached out, physically and with the new parts inside him, and clasped Dorian’s hand. “Let’s do this.”

~

Kadan.

It was the second time Bull had called him that, and the word shone in the back of Dorian’s mind like a diamond. _Kadan_.

His Qunlat was, as Bull had said, coming along, but mostly things like _stop_ , _good_ , _yes_ , _drink_ \- as well as anything to do with arms and armour. He’d not come across _kadan_ anywhere before, not that he could remember, but still, somehow, he knew… knew it was something special. Something along the lines of _amatus_ , based on the feel of the word in Bull’s thoughts, based on the way it _glowed_. And Dorian had already taken that step, hadn’t he? Dropped an _amatus_ without even really thinking about it, the appellation suddenly as natural as breathing, as obvious and as inevitable.

Bull’s Tevene was better than Dorian’s Qunlat, and he’d taken _amatus_ in his stride and echoed it back, and when had anyone spoken to Dorian like that? When had anyone looked at him like that? When had he ever stayed long enough for someone to feel his heart beat in his chest in the small hours of the morning, to share his dreams, to, to see him in the sun's first light and not turn away?

_Kadan_.

The fire smouldered.

~

Bull, it turned out, didn’t need to do anything much more than sit there, scratching optional. Dorian sat by him, after assisting Vivienne arrange certain runes and sigils, and touched his hand lightly, trying to project - oh, reassurance, confidence, excitement. It was dull, probably, listening to the two mages discuss all the theoretical bullshit that came before the first spell was cast, and likely mildly terrifying, never mind the fully armed ex-Templar stationed stoically in the corner, visibly itching to put a stop to the entire proceeding.

Who _had_ invited Cullen? Lovely for decoration, of course, but Dorian didn’t think he’d be able to lay a Smite on Vivienne if she’d drunk a tankard of magebane beforehand. Ah well. His presence clearly made Bull feel better, and that really made all the difference, in the end.

“A glyph of insight,” Dorian noted, as Vivienne sketched her plans lightly in the air between them in golden sparks. “Simple, but hmm. Potentially effective.”

“The glyph is just the channel for the magic dear,” Vivienne said, touching Bull lightly on the hand. “I’ll inscribe it on the ground beneath you and it will be a way for me to see inside you. So to speak.”

“So to speak,” Bull echoed, and glanced at Dorian. 

- _kadan?-_

Clear as a bell. Dorian smiled at him and shrugged a shoulder. “Vivienne is a very competent mage, Bull,” he said, rearranging a small crystal rune just so, as Vivienne clearly ached to nudge it back. “You’ll be fine.”

“Over here if you will, Bull darling,” Vivienne said, gesturing to the open space they’d cleared. “Dorian you’ve been _such_ a helpful little assistant, would you like to have a seat out of the way now? You may have some more of those truffles you clearly love while I work.”

Dorian almost laughed. It was beneath both of them, really, but one had to find one’s fun where one could, in the South. Even Vivienne looked like she was holding back a smile, and Bull’s eye was almost rolling out of his head.

“I’ll supervise then, shall I,” Dorian allowed, magnanimously, tossing himself back onto the chaise. “Do carry on.”

Bull sighed and stood, walking slowly and standing where Vivienne had indicated. He looked calm, at ease, face set into what Dorian thought of as his Ben Hassrath mask - neutral, alert, shuttered. But Dorian could feel the nerves sizzling through the bond.

It wasn’t just the magic, of course. It was what the magic might _find_.

With a gesture, Vivienne activated the runes, creating a glowing circle around Bull, hovering in the air around hip height. “Containment,” she said softly. “Just think of it as a net to catch any spare magic, dear, so it doesn’t go ricocheting through the keep.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bull acknowledged, eyeing the glowing circle closely. Vivienne smiled and traced a glyph in the air, murmuring under her breath. As she drew, the lines appeared in gold on the floor below Bull’s feet, expanding out and blooming like a flower, intricate and beautiful. 

“Ma’am,” Bull started, freezing as a wash of gold started flowing up his legs, looking up in not-quite-panic. Vivienne held up a hand.

“All is well, Bull,” she said firmly. “It’s working.”

“I have you,” Dorian said softly, half out loud, half pushing the sentiment through the bond. “It’s harmless, can’t hurt you.”

“Not a fan,” Bull said tightly and Dorian nodded. 

“Understood, Bull. It won’t be long.”

Vivienne turned to him quizzically, one hand held out now to each of them. “Did you say that out loud, Dorian?” she asked, tilting her head. “Or…”

The lines of magic started to shift.

The golden light surrounding Bull took on the shape of flames, licking up his body, whispering over the muted silver of his skin. They coalesced over his heart, glowing and writhing in a translucent gold bunch, and then shot out in an arc towards Dorian, stopped short by the barrier Vivienne had created, spreading out along it like it was pushing against an invisible wall.

“Oh, my…”

Dorian barely heard Vivienne’s whisper, staring in wonder at the visible representation of what he’d been feeling - what he’d known to be true - glowing between them.

He stood up.

“Kadan,” Bull started, looking up at the movement. “Dorian, wait.”

“It’s fine,” Dorian murmured. “Can’t you feel it?” 

The flames roaring, purring, crackling between them. Vivienne’s magic made Bull’s visible while he was in the circle, but Dorian knew his own were just as real. He just needed to…

“It should be quite harmless, dear,” Vivienne said, sounding just a little uncertain. Dorian noticed that she held her staff at the ready, and couldn’t truly fault her for it. 

Bull watched him, wreathed in fire, and Dorian stepped through the barrier.

There was a storm around him, as Dorian saw his own flames flare into visibility and collide into Bull’s. The knot in front of his heart spread out and intertwined with the knot reaching out from Bull and then they were surrounded, two bodies unharmed in the centre of a bonfire, and Dorian was held safe in Bull’s soul just as Bull was held fast and strong and secure in his.

_-kadan...asalari...amatus...soulmate-_

~

Vivienne was watching over them when the glyph faded and the barriers gently fell.

Bull felt like he was waking from a trance, the room slowly reforming around him, emerging through the fading flames. Cullen stood rigid in the corner, shimmering as he held a Smite tightly around himself, ready to let it go at a breath. Vivienne looked… Bull wasn’t ready to try and analyse that look. It was too raw, too open, too wildly unlike anything he’d ever seen from Vivienne before.

And Dorian, Dorian was in his arms.

“Darlings,” Vivienne said softly, voice clear and somehow fragile in the silence of the room. “Are you both quite alright?”

Dorian took a deep breath against Bull’s chest, held it for a moment, and then gently pulled away. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, subtly rubbed a thumb at the corner of each eye. His kohl was smudged, but just barely.

“Thank you, Madame de Fer,” he said. “I believe so. Bull?”

“Yeah.” Bull had to cough, clear his throat, voice coming out rougher than he expected. “Yeah, Ma’am. How ‘bout you Cullen?”

Cullen, frozen in the corner, looked at him with wide, curiously wet eyes. The lingering Smite had dissipated, leaving him looking smaller, somehow. Deflated. “It’s _real_ ,” he said in wonder. “The - the bond? You’re _actually_ soulmates.”

He was crying, Bull realised, and trying valiantly to hide it. 

Bull looked away. “I, uh, guess? Viv?”

Vivienne, regaining her composure with remarkable speed, was already gliding over to a stack of books piled neatly on a table, plucking several out with elegant fingers. “Well, of course, this is unprecedented in modern times, as far as we know. I must...hmmm. Must go back through my histories, something from the Blessed Age, there must be something…” she trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “But yes, it seems… there was nothing malevolent, no hint of any sort of demonic presence. Bull, you can rest easy on that part. Apart from that, I need...need to study. Dorian darling, see me when you’re ready, yes?”

Dorian nodded. His hand had found Bull’s and was gripping it until it almost hurt.

Cullen was wiping his eyes, back turned to the room, and Bull wondered about it, for a moment, before Dorian, as always pushed everything else to the side and demanded his attention.

“I’m to go out with Max in a few days,” he announced. “To Orlais. I shall visit the booksellers there and see what can be found. Madame, my gratitude…” he paused, clearly fighting himself. “My gratitude cannot be expressed. I’ll see you when we return. Bull, I’ll see _you_ after dinner.” And he squeezed Bull’s hand one last time before sweeping out of the room, knocking shoulders companionably with Cullen on his way out. 

Bull, obviously, made to follow him, feeling the line of fire draw thin and tight, but Vivienne held up a hand.

“Darling, you know better. Go and take our Commander for a drink, will you? You both look like you could use it.”

It was a rebuke, and a dismissal, but she was gentle about it and worse, she was right.

“You’re not my actual Tama,” Bull grumbled out of habit, but he was already obeying. A drink. Yeah, a drink sounded good.

“I’ve whiskey in my office,” Cullen said. “If you’d rather avoid the tavern right now.”

_Real_ good.

~

Cullen, it turned out, under the armour and fur, was just as sentimental as the rest of them.

“You must think -” he broke off and laughed ruefully, staring at the scratched, scarred top of his desk. “I haven't the faintest idea what you must think of me.”

Bull shrugged. He liked Cullen a great deal, as it happened. They had more in common, in some ways, than most of the rest of the little inner circle, and they’d always found time for each other. Seeing his tears - of wonder, of regret? - hadn’t done anything to dampen the sentiment.

But Cullen required a delicate touch and Bull’s head was still swimming, still aflame with magic and bonds and _Dorian_ , and it took him a while to think of a response.

“I think I’m grateful you were in that room,” he said at last, and smiled apologetically. “I don’t have space in my head for much else at the moment.”

Cullen blinked at him, and then sighed. “Of course. Maker, Bull, I can’t imagine...what can I do for you? Get you?”

He was already rising, concerned gaze on Bull’s face, and Bull was struck with a pang of fondness. Selfless to a fault, this one.

“I’m _fine_ , Cullen. Sit down and pour some more drinks, if you really wanna do something.”

“Of course,” Cullen murmured, and did as he was told, sliding a dangerously full glass of deep golden whiskey over to Bull’s side of the desk. “Please, drink.”

Bull did.

Some time later, when the liquor had started to quench some of the roaring flames, he levelled a narrowed gaze on Cullen.

“You’re a Templar,” he started and Cullen, slumped against the back of his chair with his curls askew, made a face.

“Former Templar.”

“You’re a former Templar,” Bull corrected himself easily. “What did you...feel in that room? With your, y’know...Templar shit?”

“With my Templar shit?” Cullen smiled a little at that. “Hmm. _Magic_.”

“Shit, I could have told you that.” The bottle was heading towards empty, but Bull was big enough that it took a lot of human liquor to even touch the sides. He drank some more - they’d abandoned glasses at this point and were just passing the bottle back and forth.

“Well, be more specific if you’re such an expert,” Cullen said testily. “I’m not a mindreader.”

_I am_ , Bull thought, and for the first time that afternoon prodded tentatively at the bond. Dorian was in the library with a bottle of wine and a book that he wasn’t really reading. He acknowledged Bull’s presence, barely, and then gently seemed to push him away.

_-space, amatus-_

After a moment, Bull withdrew.

“What kind of magic? I know Vivienne said there wasn’t anything, you know, demonic, but…”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he told himself, or even that he trusted Cullen more. It was just… a lot.

“I trained...trained for years to recognise demons, abominations. Vivienne and Dorian don’t rate my power, I believe, but I could have laid a Smite down in that room that would have taken out every speck of magic in it, the _instant_ I felt anything amiss. I could have shut it down with a thought.” 

He leaned forward, elbows heavy on the desk. “There was _nothing_ , Bull. No demonic presence, no hint of malevolence. Just love.” He said it simply, openly, and his eyes, Bull noticed, were starting to shine. “Love the likes of which I’ve never felt before in my life.”

“Is that...is that why the tears?”

Cullen stared at him a moment.

“I have never been in love and if I’m honest, I doubt I ever will. But I shall remember the taste of it you gave me for the rest of my _days_ , Bull. It was...a gift.”

Cullen was a catch, but Bull knew better than to try to _tell_ him that. Anyway, before Dorian Bull had assumed he’d never be in love either. 

_In love._

It was such a fucking stupid concept for a Qunari, and yet, here he was. In a castle in Southern Thedas with a very earnest former Templar telling him that he’d given him the only taste of love he was likely to have in his life, and they _hadn’t even fucked._

How did you even respond to that?

“Shit’s weird,” is what he decided on eventually, and reached across the table to pat Cullen’s shoulder. “I’d have let you have a ride, you know, if things were different.”

Cullen’s face was the picture of dignity.

“Thank you, the Iron Bull,” he said, composed. “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.” Bull handed the bottle over and waited until Cullen was swallowing before adding, “I think that pretty blond chevalier’s up for it if you really are looking for a _taste_ , though…”

It was, he decided as he watched Cullen choke, a fairly satisfying end to a fucking strange day.

~

By the time Bull had stopped at the tavern to eat enough to soak up some of the whiskey and then headed up to his room, Dorian was waiting for him. Sitting on Bull’s bed, propped up by an almost obscene amount of pillows, fully dressed with his boots crossed neatly on Bull’s clean coverlet.

So beautiful it hurt.

_-I love you-_

“You know,” Bull started, closing the door behind him and immediately getting to work on his harness. “I would definitely have fucked Cullen Rutherford.”

Dorian, pure poise, raised his eyebrows. “Mmm?”

“Shit yeah. Face like that? I’m kinda nudging him towards that Michel de Chevin but _fuck_.” He set the harness on a chest to one side and rolled the tension it left out of the muscles in his shoulder. “Imagine getting in between the two of them. Little blond Southern _candies_.”

“Mmm.”

_-I love you I love you-_

“Lotta good sex to be had in the South, if I’m being honest,” Bull continued, hands dropping to his belt. “Like that redheaded baker? The elf? Koslun’s nut, she was hot.”

Dorian had sat up, eyes never leaving Bull, and was nodding seriously as he started to pull off his gloves. “Do go on, this is fascinating.”

_-I love you I would die for you-_

“I mean, I know you don’t like tits, Dorian-”

“Well, not particularly, no.”

“-but hers were crafted by the fucking gods themselves. Tight as a vice, too. And the prettiest woman in Skyhold to boot.”

_-my life is yours my body is yours my soul is yours-_

Dorian dropped his gloves onto the floor next to the bed, leaned back on one arm, and started tugging at the laces of his shirt with his free hand.

“Indeed?”

“Uh huh.”

Bull’s belt came off, and was laid next to his harness. The pants would have to wait for the boots, and the boots would have to wait for the leg brace, so he just advanced towards the bed instead.

“And I...uh, I had a foursome with a few of Harding’s scouts in the Hinterlands once. Not Harding herself, obviously, but uh…”

There was a smile curling on Dorian’s lips as his shirt opened and slipped down his shoulders. Bull set one knee on the mattress by his hip.

“Oh, tell me all about the scouts, Bull.”

_-I would kill anyone who hurt you I would lay waste to this castle this country this world if you so much as asked-_

“Three of them, yeah. Little human bodies, all warm and sweet, fussing over me like I was a god.”

He cupped the side of Dorian’s neck, ran a thumb over his jaw.

_-I love you and only you-_

“Like you were a _god_?” Dorian murmured, eyes going wide in sarcastic admiration. “Oh, my.”

“Two mouths on my cock, one - one on -” Doran was laughing.

_-only you only you only you-_

“And yet,” Dorian whispered, and turned his head into Bull’s grip, kissing his palm as Bull shivered. “Here you are.”

“Here I am.”

The flames surrounded them.

“And here you’ll stay.”

“Here I’ll stay.”

He pushed Dorian back down into the pillows. It was decadent, obscene, as was the cut of Dorian’s hips where they disappeared into his leathers, as was the smoothness of his skin, as was the sweet, dark taste of his lips.

“I’m afraid Cullen shall have to fend for himself,” Dorian whispered into the kiss.

Bull smiled, and ran his claws down Dorian’s side to make him shiver.

“He’ll manage.”

Bull dipped his head, sent his mouth travelling down Dorian’s neck, his shoulders, the broad planes of his chest. Dorian was hard all over, hours of training with his staff showing in every line of muscle. Bull loved to find the places he was soft - the smooth curves of his breast, the slightest swell under his navel - and make them his with deep, sucking kisses. Dorian moaned, hips rocking restlessly as Bull made his way further down, and hummed in agreement as he hooked his claws into the waist of Dorian’s pants and _pulled_.

“If I’m not careful I’ll rip these,” Bull murmured, to soft laughter.

“Oh, don’t make me pretend I care.”

_-destroy them and then destroy me I beg you-_

“Yeah, okay.”

The leather tore like tissue in Bull’s grip and Dorian’s underthings beneath them, and Dorian _didn’t_ pretend to care. The bond was thrumming, pulsing with their heat and their need and the explosive, brilliant impossibility of their love. Bull could barely keep track of who was sending what, their thoughts joining and twining like their souls had in Vivienne’s room until it was just a constant, immersive stream of _want_.

_-yes-_

when his mouth found Dorian’s cock and sucked it down, yeah, that could have been either of them, both.

_-more-_

when Dorian’s grip found Bull’s horns, not steering, just holding on like he was trying not to get swept away.

_-mine…-_

as Bull fondled Dorian’s ass, yeah, that was probably him, _mine, mine_ , as he rubbed a dry finger over Dorian’s opening, not pressing in, just feeling him, feeling the softness hidden away _there_. He thought of the men who had touched Dorian like this

_-not like this no never like this amatus-_

thought of the men that had had him, _been_ had by him, that parade of faceless boys who had been there first, and didn’t begrudge them. What was sex, what was fucking, when it wasn’t lit up in flames?

_-burn me up-_

There was a pot of elfroot salve, Bull smeared it all over his pants in his haste and Dorian’s amusement shone through the bond as he growled and shoved them down to his knees, brace and boots still on. Dorian’s legs, long and brown, tight with muscle and warm with the heat of him, wrapped around his waist and the salve was _everywhere_ , thick and filthy on Bull’s cock, rubbed hastily over Dorian’s hole, shoved in with one, then two of Dorian’s strong, quick fingers.

_-you won’t hurt me-_

_-hurry-_

And Bull was sinking in, in, _in_ , and the flames turned them both to ash as they fucked. It was hard and messy and ruthless, their bodies crashing together, joining, twining, like the flames of their souls. It hurt, Bull’s knee screamed at him before long, Dorian’s hasty preparations not quite a match for the size of Bull slamming into him. But it was good, oh, so good.

The entire castle could have heard them and neither would have cared.

Release found them together, clinging to muscle and bone, hair and horn, drenched in sweat. A cry, then two, and the heat turned liquid and brutally fierce for an instant before it swept through and left them hollowed out.

Sated.

_-only you-_

_-I know-_

~

Vivienne went to Max, because she was a snitch, and Max went to Dorian because he was, unfortunately, a very good friend.

“Dorian? What the fuck?”

Dorian sighed and set down his book.

“Indeed.”

The library was no place for this conversation, Dorian decided, so they adjourned to the gardens, where they could see eavesdroppers coming from a mile away and, incidentally, watch Cullen playing chess with some random chevalier who wasn’t de Chevin.

“You have formed a mystical soul bond with the love of your life and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

Max was hurt and trying not to sound it, and Dorian found himself feeling vaguely guilty for it.

“Yes, but...it’s _Bull_.”

Which earned him a smack.

“You told Vivienne.”

Ah yes, definitely hurt. Dorian turned to him, took in his lovely face, his sad, worried eyes.

“ _I_ didn’t tell Vivienne, Bull did that entirely of his own accord. I only went along with her little pantomime so as to ascertain that there was nothing dangerous or demonic going on. And,” he sniffed. “As I suspected, there is not. So it’s fine.”

“You have a soulmate,” Max said slowly, as if Dorian had entirely lost his wits. “A soulmate, Dorian Pavus! They don’t exist!”

“Well, I think you’ll find they _do_.” And then, dodging another smack. “Look, I’m sorry. I truly am, yes? It’s just...been rather a lot to take in, as I’m sure you can imagine. Having...feelings for the great oaf at all was bad enough. And now we’re bonded? In a way that, if it ever did exist, hasn’t been seen since at least the Blessed Age? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me, Maxie, but I’m rather used to running from my own problems, not tackling them head on.”

Max’s face softened, as Dorian had known it would.

“Bull’s good for you?” he said it like a question, but they both knew the answer.

“Yes, I believe so.”

_-pretty fucking good for you last night kadan-_

Dorian smiled. “Very good for me indeed.”

Max stared at him blankly for a moment and then very deliberately turned away to face Cullen and his mystery chevalier across the garden. “I don’t actually want to know. You get that, right? Oh, look, Cullen has a friend.”

Dorian chuckled and then hummed in interest as de Chevin made an appearance, hesitating a moment before determinedly heading towards the chess table.

“Oh, and another. Let’s watch, this should be fascinating.”

He linked arms with Max, leaning against his big, solid weight, and felt Bull in the back of his mind like a candle, warm and bright.

It was, in fact, a beautiful day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on Twitter, where I am Queenie_Galore!


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